


Angel and Omega

by internetname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: This is for the Fic Facers 2019 auction, which ended up needing an A/B/O story. So what the heck?





	1. The Barn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wargurl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargurl83/gifts).



“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,” Dean said, looking at the rippling wooden planks of the roof while the noise pounded at his ears.

The air was flooded with static electricity, and there was a buzz against skin he’d felt before at the Phillip’s joint and the motel room.

Even as he gripped the salt-loaded shotgun tighter, one of the overhead lights exploded, and then another and another. The front doors of the barn cracked the beam holding them in place, swinging wide to reveal a man—dark haired, stone faced—who tread without care over the painted sigils and traps. His face was first hidden and then illuminated by showers of sparks from the lights, and when Dean and Bobby emptied shot rounds into his nondescript trench coat over a dark suit, the cheap-looking material was damaged while the man’s eyes barely blinked.

Dean watched the man, who was slumped just a bit in his posture yet exuded tremendous power, come closer while Bobby fired again.

Dean reach back for Ruby’s knife.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The man looked oddly concerned, and his deep, somewhat gravely voice was almost gentle. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Feeling more furious at that than intimidated, if only just, Dean sneered, “Yeah. Thanks for that,” and then shoved the knife into the guy’s chest as hard as he could. The guy in turn looked at it, pulled it out, and dropped it to the floor.

Bobby tried to swing a crowbar at his head, but the man grabbed the bar, put two fingers on Bobby’s head, and watched an unconscious Bobby slump to the floor.

He turned back around, and all Dean could see was a pair of concerned blue eyes.

“We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”

And, oh God, he was leaking— _leaking_ , right there in that crappy barn with Bobby maybe lying dead not two feet away.

Equal parts worried about Bobby and desperate for something to do besides stand there and leak like a teenager with his first porn mag, Dean went to his friend and knelt, only then thinking about how much he really shouldn’t be on his knees right now.

Bobby was breathing and deeply asleep, and the man was looking through one of their books like he was in some public library.

“Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what are you?”

The guy looked up from his book. “I’m an angel of the lord and your alpha.”

Dean stood up. “Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”

“Angel or someone who’s your alpha?”

“Both.”

“This is your problem, Dean, you have no faith.”

“Omegas find a compatible alpha before they’re out of their teens, or they’re incompatible.”

Castiel gave him the slightest smile, then thunder boomed, the light got weird, and the shadow of two great wings rose up on the wall behind him.

Dean locked his knees. Slick was literally running down the inside of his right leg, and he realized he hadn’t taken a single suppressant since he’d returned from the grave. And it didn’t get better when the light went back to normal and the wings were gone.

“I could not come to you until the time was right. We angels do as we’re told.”

Dean could only hope—pray—hope—that the ozone from the busted lights and general mustiness of the barn was keeping Castiel from smelling him and that the bad lighting was hiding the reshaping of his pants. God, this was worse than the hell he had just escaped.

“Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel actually looked regretful. “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming for humans. So can my voice, but you already knew that.”

Dean frowned. “The gas station and the motel, that was you talking?”

Castiel nodded.

“Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

“It was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. Considering that you’re my omega, I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

Dean realized what that meant. “And what visage are you in now? Holy tax accountant?”

“This?” Castiel looked down at himself. “While most angels need a human vessel to visit the earth, this is a creation by God, a physical manifestation of my true form fashioned to be pleasing to you.” That little smile was back. “It seems to be effective.”

 _Damn it_. So much for keeping his little problem hidden.

“I’m not buying what you’re selling; so, who are you really?” Dean stepped back a little, but it didn’t help.

Castiel tilted his head in a way Dean positively did not find endearing. “I told you.”

“Right. And why would an angel either rescue me from hell or just so happen to be my long-lost alpha?”

“Good things do happen, Dean.” Castiel stepped closer, which really did not help.

“Not in my experience.”

Castiel’s blue eyes flooded with compassion. “It has been so very difficult for you, Dean. As much as I have struggled with waiting thousands of years to finally meet you, I know for you it has been worse. Watching your father scorn you when you presented and then preen over Sam when he proved himself an alpha. Taking your suppressants before you even had a heat. Waiting for someone who didn’t come, someone who seemed was never going to come to claim you.”

“I don’t need claiming.”

“Limiting yourself to meaningless affairs with beta women even as you longed to be held, to be bitten, to belong, to find the other half of yourself.” He took another step forward, and Dean could smell him: sweet olive and the air after a storm, an oddly gentle fragrance for an alpha.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel pressed, head tilting again. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved or claimed.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you. Because you belong to me.”

“What? I’m some sort of reward for you?”

The alpha moved just a bit more forward, and Dean could feel the heat from him now, a warmth that reached through his skin down to his muscles and then bones.

“I belong to you as well. In the fight ahead, we will be each other’s.”

Dean’s stomach dropped down to his knees—both of them dripping with slick now. His heart was pounding, he was sweating, and he couldn’t breathe right.

For one thing, Castiel was gorgeous in his face, his body, his smell, and his warmth.

“You’re beautiful,” the angel, if he were really an angel, growled. “I couldn’t get this close before. The scent of you.”

“What do I smell like?”

Castiel smiled, as though he knew Dean hadn’t meant to ask. “Like salvation and honeycomb.”

Dean didn’t whimper. He made a noise, sure, but it wasn’t a whimper—more like maybe a clearing of his throat or something.

“Dean,” Castiel said next. “The fight we have ahead of us, the tasks we face, they are more important than we are.” Then a warm, soft, strong, gentle hand was resting against Dean’s chest, almost singeing him, and Dean thought of the handprint burned onto his shoulder. “But we have a short time to ourselves, a few days, perhaps a few weeks, no more, and I have been waiting for you for so very long.”

Those blue eyes loomed closer, and Castiel’s breath was warm and male and oddly human-like. For the first time in a very long time, Dean let himself think of being filled, and now it was with the thought of those eyes watching him as he—oh, God—as he spread his legs and let his alpha take pleasure from him. Would he pound him into the mattress? Thrust in gently, slowly, kissing him all the while? Jump him? Savor him?

“I will give you whatever you wish,” Castiel breathed, and even the whisper of it was husky and deep. “I will touch every part of you, learn everything that brings you joy, while we take each other, over and over again.”

OK, Dean couldn’t deny he whimpered that time.

Another warm hard was sliding around his hip now, pulling him in an inch, then half an inch. Their bodies touched, and every point of contact burned so sweetly.

“Kiss me, Dean,” Castiel said now, sounding almost drunk on the idea. “I’ve waited an eon for you to kiss me.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean muttered, closing his eyes. “This cannot be real.”

“I can’t kiss you with your eyes closed, Dean.”

“Why not?”

“Look at me, please.”

Later, Dean would tell himself it was the “please” that did it, not the way his clothes were too tight, his skin was on fire, and his damn ass was clenching around the emptiness.

He opened his eyes, and then Castiel was _right there_. Their lips didn’t just fit together, heat and contour perfectly matched. There was now this seamless quality of alignment, of union.

“Let me have you, Dean,” the angel said, and the hunter almost came all over himself right there. “I’ve been waiting to be inside you since the Carboniferous Period.”

Laughing at nothing, tired of his own passivity, Dean reached around the angel’s waist, grabbing two handfuls of firm ass. He opened his mouth to the kiss, and their tongues twined around each other. Castiel tasted like he smelled, but better, a source of refreshment that emboldened him to drink his fill.

“That sounds good,” he managed to say. There was a soft flutter, as though of wings, and they were in a motel room, though not one he recognized. It was clean, soft, and as comfortingly familiar as it was anonymous.

Castiel kept kissing while he stripped them both. Dean had to make an effort to see this body God had evidently custom-made with him in mind, which meant that he promptly had to concede God was a great tailor.

While he had spent his life, as Cass had said, pacifying himself with a faceless line of beta women, it was strong thighs and broad shoulders he pictured when he got himself off, stripping his cock and shoving a couple fingers up his semi-slick ass. Castiel had a perfect body: tight, fit, pert, and so damn smooth. He didn’t have a single scar or blemish or mole or anything, just miles of lightly tanned skin.

And then Dean let himself look down further: straight, thick, long, pink, and lovely, with tender-looking balls and a soft dusting of hair.

Dean knew his own equipment was fine, especially for an omega in hiding, But it wasn’t—

“Gorgeous,” Castiel said with awe, kissing his way down Dean’s torso. “When I reassembled you, I was worried I wouldn’t match the original, but this is every freckle, every shade, every shape of you before those hell hounds got to you. The only new mark is my own handprint.” The angel sounded smug.

“From where you gripped me tight?” Dean asked, beginning to float on the uplift of Cass’ every touch.

“Stay with me, Dean.” He looked down into now mischievous eyes. “I want you to watch me suck your gorgeous body.”

“Say ‘cock,’ Cass. Say you’re going to suck my cock.”

The angel winked at him, repeated the words dutifully, and then pulled the length of him past his full lips, down through his hot mouth, and deeper into his tight, rippling throat.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean couldn’t keep his hips from thrusting forward, but Cass just rode it out. Dean would have come then, but strong fingers circled his base and held the impulse back.

More strength came then from those perfect hands as they pushed his legs up and over Cass’ shoulders before pulling his cheeks apart to bare his slick hole to the cool air of the room. A rough, spongy tongue followed, and Cass groaned in pleasure as he started to lick and suck.

“Dean,” the angel moaned. “Dean.”

He put his fingers into the angel’s dark hair, and it was smooth and sleek and soft. He thought about rubbing that head of hair over his nipples, around his balls, along the tip of his cock, and then Castiel was gripping the base of his dick once more.

Yeah, he just flat-our whimpered then, and he didn’t care.

“You taste like everything good,” Castiel whispered.

“Worth the wait?”

Lips dripping with his own slick pressed against his, hot and fierce like butter, and then down his body again. “Better.”

There was a pause, and Dean knew to open his eyes again. Castiel was beyond beautiful, and his eyes were glowing with a bright blue light inside. Beyond the angel’s shoulders, Dean could see the dark shadows of his wings rising up once more.

“I would wait forever for you, Dean Winchester,” he said, and a thick finger breached him, unnaturally warm, as though filling his whole body with light. “But instead I get to do this.”

Dean felt the hard velvet of Cass’ tip press against his slick hole, then the pressure and heat of him went on as he continued, just like he’d sucked Dean in before, deeper and deeper.

Dean’s head slammed back against the flat pillow, feeling he was being torn in two even as the bliss of it all filled him. He knew honestly that Cass could just fuck him to death now and he wouldn’t stop it.

But instead of the violence he expected, the next moments gradually, firmly heated up the core of him, pressing against nerves that sang and begged for more. He could feel Cass’ dick slam into him all the ways down to his damn toes, and his toes had never been happier.

And then started the blessed rhythm, call it ancient or classic, he didn’t care. His hands again on Castiel’s ass, he felt as his alpha’s muscles contract and then release for each thrust and return.

“Fuck me, Cass,” he whispered. “God, fuck me.”

“Yes!” the angel shouted. “You’re mine, Dean. Mine to fuck!” Then blue eyes were staring into his inner self—his soul, he guessed, as battered and secondhand as it was. “Claim me, Dean.”

“Yes,” he said, aware he was coming this time come hell or high water. “You’re mine to claim.”

Castiel clenched up, coming, and Dean followed him.

And everything for a time was just soft and lovely and warm.

For the rest of the night they lay there, entwined, being united, while the angel told the human what he could, which wasn’t much, of the war ahead of them. They would face it together, but the outcome was uncertain. Dean just nodded, and he worried about Sam.

Outside the motel, traffic went west and east, the town’s few traffic lights stopped it all for a while, then turned green, as though nodding weary travelers on their way for all the battles before them.

 

 


	2. Good Morning, Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, thanks to a bid from the love Wargurl, this is now going to be a long story. You'll notice that I cannot stick to canon now. I mean, nothing would make sense. I hope it's still enjoyable!

**Good Morning, Dean**

Since coming back from hell, Dean Winchester didn’t have pleasant dreams.

If he were lucky, he woke up only with the lingering sensations of pain and harsh light. If he weren’t lucky, he was back in hell, having pieces of himself carved away by Alistair, or, even worse, the knife was in his own hand, and another soul was on the rack.

So while he wouldn’t say, if he were in a position to say anything and weren’t dead asleep, that his current mental state was pleasant, it was decidedly free from hell, demons, torture, rape, watching his intestines slither to the floor, and being burned alive (well, dead-alive).

Instead, he was in a room, kind of like what you’d expect from some meditation spa that charged you $2,000 a day literally just for breathing. Polished, smooth wood made up the walls, floor, and steepled ceiling. The air was odd, kind of soft, like the golden light.

It was actually disorienting to wake up without his heart pounding, without sweat on his skin, without wondering if he were back in the pit after all and escaping had just been a dream.

And then even stronger came the rebound: _home_ and _safe_ and _yes_ seemed etched into the dim light beneath his eyelids. A warm, solid, heavy arm lay along his waist and curled around to the warm, soft, light hand against his stomach.

“Good morning, Dean.”

God, that damn voice. It started with the breath against the back of his neck, then to the vibrations through his flesh down to his bones, and then it settled in the heavy heat filling his groin.

“Good morning, Cass,” Dean said, opening his eyes to the comfortably crappy motel room, with its green-gold cheap wallpaper and sort-of matching comforters. The one on the other bed—

“Son of a bitch!” Dean said, shooting to a sitting position that half-dragged Castiel with him. “Sam!”

“He’s all right, Dean,” Castiel said, smoothing a hand over his bare shoulders and settling his palm against the handprint on his omega’s arm. “He’s sleeping at Bobby’s.”

“And Bobby?” The hunter looked around, already calming, already softening his body to lie back and conform to the planes and angles of his alpha’s lean form. Those blue eyes were brilliant in the morning light, and his lips seemed just slightly chapped, begging for someone to moisten them.

“Bobby is fine, though he’s worried about you. He’s reading a monograph on Asian spirits and looking at his phone every few minutes.”

Even with Cass’ arms around him, Dean winces. But the angel just smiles slightly and hands over Dean’s phone—from where, exactly, Dean’s not sure.

“ _That better be you, Dean_ ,” Bobby growls after picking up on the first ring.

“Sorry, and I’m fine.”

“ _Where are you?_ ”

Dean looks over to Cass, who said, “We’re still in Sioux Falls.”

“ _Who is that?_ ”

“That’s, well, that’s Castiel.”

Bobby waited.

Dean shrugged, smiling and relishing the words on his tongue. “He’s my alpha.”

Castiel smiled and kissed his shoulder.

“ _Your what?! Wait a minute, you mean that guy in the trench coat? The thing that burned out Pamela’s eyes?_ ”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean looked around the motel room and realized they were in the Super 8 off I229. “Look, I’ll be there in an hour, OK?”

Castiel cleared his throat.

“Make that a couple hours. I’m fine, and don’t do anything until we get there.”

“ _Is that Dean?_ ” he heard Sam asking before Castiel snapped his phone shut.

Whatever flippant thing Dean was about to say just up and died on his lips when Castiel leaned over him to put the phone on the nightstand and then reared up and back, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Quietly, he moved the covers away from the omega’s body and then looked over his lightly freckled skin, lips pursed slightly as he tilted his head, bird-like, and did another slow circuit.

It was as though the angel’s gaze actually touched him, a whisper of warmth that moved down his chest, lingered on the handprint with a proud glimmer, then traced along his flank, down his thighs and shins to his feet. Something shone in that blue gaze, and Dean half-thought about the possibility of a food fetish (which was fine with him!) before that almost-warmth was moving back up his legs and focusing on his (now quite tumescent) cock.

“Angels don’t sleep,” Castiel said, the tone of it gravel and bass, “but we dream, and I have dreamed of this so many times.”

Dean’s breathing hitched.

Cass put a fingertip on his left thigh, tracing, Dean eventually realized, from faint freckle to freckle. “I know the number of cells in your body, the number of molecules in each cell. I can see the atoms that make you present on this plane. I can see the drip of pre-ejaculate produced by your Cowper’s glands. I can see the needy arch of your back, the involuntary dilation of your needy hole, the way you want me to slide myself inside you and fill you up.”

“Cass.”

“I can see your bright soul, the strength of you, the love and hate, the thousand times you have felt unworthy, unable.” Cass’ eyes flicked up and bore into his mate’s. “I will take every last moment we have on this world to cherish you, to replace the words you hurt yourself with with the words I know to be true. God chose you for me, Dean Winchester. And I’m going to take from you everything He promised, even your pain.”

“Cass, please.” Dean was shaking now, uncertain whether to pull his legs back or flip himself over and present.

Those slightly dry lips smiled, then Castiel bent down and pressed soft kiss after softer kiss to Dean’s lips, his chin, his neck, and back to his lips even as inhumanly strong hands lifted the hunter’s body up at the hips and slipped him over Cass’ hard cock like a sheath over a knife.

Dean came almost instantly, and though he wasn’t in heat he didn’t lose his erection or desperate need for more.

“I waited for you too, Cass.”

The dark-haired head shook ruefully back and forth even as his hips moved as regularly and relentlessly as a piston, each pounding thrust deep inside the man’s body insisting on pleasure and wringing it from him.

“You gave up,” the angel said. “Long ago, you looked in the mirror and told yourself no one was coming for you. You looked at your body, at this incredible masterpiece of God, and told yourself you were incompatible, and all the while I was watching and waiting.”

“Oh, God.” Distantly, Dean was aware he was coming again.

“But I forgive you.” Cass changed his angle, frowning even as he grunted in very human-sounding delight. “I—oh, you feel.” He looked upward, thrusting just a little harder, rhythm starting to falter. “You feel better than I dreamed.”

Cass closed his eyes when he came, pumping what felt like a quart of hot fluid deep into Dean’s body, and behind him, against the ceiling Dean thought he saw an outline of outspread wings.

It was three hours before they made it to Bobby’s.

After Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and brought them to just outside the gate, Dean blinked away a few stars, fixed his alpha’s tie, and nodded. Together they walked inside the yarn and toward Bobby’s house, from which quickly poured several people.

Dean hadn’t been expecting the crowd, though he probably should have. Sam and Bobby (holding a shotgun like a security blanket) came out, followed by Ellen and Jo and a third woman in a sheriff’s uniform. Dean saw  Cass look at her oddly, almost in surprise.

Bobby shook his head. “Dean, boy, you have some—”

“Jody Mills,” Castiel said, and though it was quiet enough, everyone just froze and looked at him.

“Yes?” the woman said. She looked to be around forty and had those sort of no-nonsense eyes and calm beta smell Dean associated with good law enforcers.

“Your son is in the hospital.”

Sheriff Mills head went back as her chin dipped down. “How do you know that?”

“You need to bring Owen to me. He’s too closely watched at the hospital.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Why would I do that, exactly?”

“I will heal him.”

She shook her head. “The doctors, they say—”

“Your son will die in three days unless you bring him to me.”

Her arm twitched in a way Dean knew meant she wanted to pull her firearm as she took a step back.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, staring at Cass.

“A what now?” Ellen wanted to know.

“It’s, uh, it’s true,” Dean said, trying to avoid the glare of several pairs of incredulous eyes. “This is the guy who got me out of Hell.” He looked, and they were all still staring him except for Cass, who was looking at the others in turn, his head tilted in the bird-like way again.

“He what?” Sheriff Mills asked. “How?”

“I raised him from Perdition,” Castiel said, “because God commanded it.” He looked over at Dean, almost amused.

The hunter manned up. “And because he’s, um, my alpha.”

“What?!” Sam shouted.

“Look, let’s all come inside and talk,” Ellen said, a little alpha-mother seeping into her voice. She looked at Mills. “Except for you, I’m thinking.”

The sheriff nodded, backed away, then turned around and hurried to her police SUV. Watching her, Dean spotted Baby a few yards back, looking freshly washed, and a vague tension he didn’t know he was carrying went away.

Beside him, Cass snorted just slightly, and for a moment a waved of irritation went through him. Sure, it was great to find his alpha, but was he never going to have a second’s privacy again?

“Yes, the car is fine, Dean,” Sam said, turning to go back inside while Bobby shook his head and turned as well, though his grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen, and Dean reminded himself a person didn’t have to be an angel to know the love a man had to have for an awesome car.

A hand slotted into his, and he looked at Cass in surprise. The angel smiled only with his eyes, and they walked into Bobby’s together. Ellen served iced tea while Jo coaxed Bobby into putting the shotgun down. In a few minutes they were sitting in the living room, bright in the noon sunlight even with Bobby’s dusty window shades.

Dean and Cass ended up on the sagging sofa, their sides pressed lightly together, Bobby sat behind his desk, and everyone else grabbed a chair from the kitchen.

“So,” Sam said, eyes full of hesitant happiness. “You’re Dean’s alpha?”

“Yes,” Cass said.

Sam got up, hunkered down in front of the sofa, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family, and I have to add, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Cass looked at Sam’s hand. Sam urged it forward.

“Ah,” Cass said. “The boy with the demon blood.”

Sam wilted somewhat, but the angel’s voice wasn’t unkind. In fact, Cass took Sam’s hand in both of his. “You and I need to talk later.”

Dean could clearly tell Sam knew what Cass was referring to, but his gigantor little brother just stood up, looming slightly, and then went back to his chair, looking shaken.

“Sam?”

That long hair shook slightly, and Sam shot him a look. “I’m all right, Dean.”

“Can we just start over from square one?” Jo asked, looking even younger than usual in a white t-shirt and jeans, sitting very close to her mother as though to hide the scent of her omega distress. He noticed she had new boots, looking shiny with flowers on the toe.

Dean felt a pang of guilt, looking at her. Not a week after Jo had first presented she’d come to see Dean, talking about how maybe they should go have dinner. Dean, who typically passed himself off as a beta, had to break the news he was actually an unclaimed, probably incompatible omega. She’d actually cried a little.

“What’s square one at this point?” Bobby asked.

“You’re an angel?” Jo asked, looking at Castiel with a squint, as though she didn’t want to look wide-eyed.

“Yes.”

“And you rescued Dean from Hell?”

“Yes.”

“Well, so, why weren’t you at his grave site?”

“Huh,” Dean said. He hadn’t thought about that yet.

“My departure from Heaven was not without its complications.”

Dean turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”

Castiel looked abruptly sad, though only in his eyes. Dean wasn’t sure the others could tell, and his voice was as deep as always.

“For thousands of years I have served as God’s warrior alongside my brothers and sisters. We fought many battles together. Eventually, I was given my own flight. I was even put in charge of the garrison that watches over Earth.” He paused.

“Something tells me you’re going to tell us things aren’t so great for you upstairs anymore,” Bobby said.

Cass nodded. “For some time now, I have been aware that some of my bothers and sisters have been furtive. I sense hidden agendas, and I believe, as difficult as it has been for me to accept, that not all angels are working together as we used to.

“Then, when the order came for me to rescue Dean, things began to become uncomfortable. Many avoid me, and though angels are not supposed to feel jealousy, I have noticed some of my fellow soldiers showing me open resentment.”

“Because God chose you to save Dean?” Sam asked.

“Because God has given me my promised soul mate.” Noticeable pride was in Cass’ voice now, and he turned to look at Dean with quiet adoration. “No other angel has been given such a reward.” He turned back to the others. “They seem to feel I have become too different.”

Cass’ stress on the last word made it sound like an insult.

“But you’re different because God has singled you out,” Sam said, a little awe in his voice. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

“For an angel, to be out of step, for whatever cause, may raise concern.”

“But why would the angels object to your doing what God said?” Sam insisted.

Cass nodded. “That is why leaving Heaven was complicated. Some objected who should not have objected.”

“And you think this all has to do with what, exactly?” Bobby asked.

Cass hesitated, then raised his chain just slightly.

“The Apocalypse.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was something strange about being so tired in your mind that you couldn’t make your arms and legs do what they were supposed to do. Dean was telling his body to walk to the nest of blankets next to the sofa currently holding up Sam’s mammoth form, but nothing was really working right.

In another second, he was lying on the green-and-gold bed in the crappy motel with those Cass-warm arms around him.

As a male omega, Dean was quite used to the sensation of conflicting desires. Sixteen years old, he’d been so turned on looking at porn (Sopping wet omegas! Elephant-sized alpha cocks! Alpha women with fully emerged phalluses and bouncing breasts! Tiny omega twinks who were somehow legal!), he’d been desperate to fuck and be fucked, gagging to plunge into heat and just to be some alpha’s hole.

That last need had really been bad. His first heat, even on suppressants, Dean had spent hours on his knees and elbows, ass in the air, jerking off and crying because no one was there to fill him up, nothing warm and solid and real was shoving itself inside him.

Dean was a hunter, and no matter how much society tried, there was just something about needing it up the ass that made omegas seem lesser, seem weaker. It didn’t help he could take 90 percent of his face and put it on a woman, and she'd be damn pretty.

Castel had been so right, so dead-on accurate with every word. His “father’s scorn” and the way John had preened over Sam’s alpha status. The dark, savage disappointment when Dean was the faithful son and Sam left, like a man presented with second-best, a consolation prize of fatherhood.

He’s wondered a thousand times now if it would have been different with his mother still alive. If he hadn’t had to be Sammy’s surrogate nanny, would his nurturing side have been less obvious? Would his father’s eyes have still looked at him that particularly damning way?

God, he’d felt like nothing sometimes, watching after Sammy, trying to be the best brother he could be, and then looking up at John Winchester’s disgust. After that, it didn’t matter how many targets Dean put holes through, how many vampires he beheaded. He was still just this omega son waiting for some big alpha to cart him off.

And then, even worse, Dean turned twenty, then twenty-one, then year after year getting older and no alpha, big or small, did come to claim him. Somehow Dean was even less than an omega. Sometimes, his father looked at him like Dean was some dog he regretted adopting. And it didn’t matter how many monsters he killed, how many people he saved, how many beta women he charmed into bed. He was just this malformed, too-pretty-but-too-strong thing no one wanted.

The suppressants had kept the heats down after that first time, but when he was nineteen, terrified because no alpha had looked at him twice, wondering if he were even a proper omega anymore, Dean skipped two weeks of pills on purpose.

When it came, the heat had been nothing less than brutal. Screwed all to cock with the meds in his system, to say nothing of his hormones freaking out after years of being chemically shackled, he hadn’t gone into estrus so much as gone insane.

He’d timed it well. John was off somewhere, Sammy was at Bobby’s, and Dean was supposed to be hunting some ghoul in Texas. He’d checked into a motel complete with photos of spurs and chaps, warned the front desk he was invoking heat privacy, and brought a suitcase half-filled with sex toys, pretty much all of them still in their blister packs.

With all the sore muscles, all the slick everywhere, the deep desire to burn the motel room to the ground when it was over, what Dean most remembered about those three days was his heartbeat.

It had started pumping with that announcement of intent twelve hours before any other symptoms showed up. _Thah-thud. Thah-thud_. He’d known to expect it. An omega’s heart was designed to hold up to the demands of a three-day sex rut, after all.

So his heart had been pumping hard enough to move his shirt when he was checking into the place, eyes glancing at the alpha bronco rider poster on the wall, her head back in a rictus of domination than had stirred up his cock and made perspiration clammy up his forehead.

The clerk, a female omega herself, had smiled (impersonally, thank God) at him when she saw him tick the box for heat privacy and gave him some prepared spiel about soundproofing and the red button on the phone if he found himself in distress. He had to sign the waver about not letting his family sue if he died in his room, and then he was good to go, a complimentary water bottle in his hand and over his shoulder a duffle bag holding his second pair of jeans, two t-shirts, three pairs of socks, his wallet, a knife, and a gun.

 _Thah-thud. Thah-thud,_ had gone his heart.

At first, the heat had actually felt good. It was a relief to know his bits and pieces did work when he allowed them to. The initial warmth through his torso and then out through his arms and legs was solid proof that his father’s cold stares and Sammy’s indifference—what did the kid know, anyway?—had nothing to do with his real body. He might be a lousy omega no one wanted, but his parts were doing just what they were supposed to.

Even when the need started, it wasn’t bad at first. He felt more than a little sexy, and for the first time ever he wasn’t faking it. He felt desirable, warm and daring, and a little bit fearless. Lying there in bed, trying to convince himself he would find his alpha in time, Dean ran his fingertips over his cock and balls and backside and felt good.

But soon, the _thah-thud, thah-thud_ of his heart began to take over.

Dean didn’t really remember the details of the next couple of days. It was more a sort of collage of sensations. He remembered desperately humping the mattress. He remembered chewing through the plastic to get to the blue dildo—all the toys he’d brought were blue—and then shoving it up his backside so fast he came all over the bedspread.

He remembered finger-fucking himself to the rhythm of his heart beat: _Thah-thud. Thah-thud._ He remembered crying. He remembered promising himself he would never, ever go off his suppressants again. He remembered promising himself he would flush his suppressants down the toilet.

Most strongly of all, he remembered one moment, a few _thah-thud-thah-thud-thah-thud_ seconds, where he could have sworn he felt strong, hot hands on his hips, angling him just so as he shoved that poor blue dildo back inside himself a few more times before coming spectacularly all over himself.

Those hands. Was there even a chance they had been his alpha’s?

“Yes, Dean,” a voice grumbled into his ear. “I was there.”

Dean’s eyes shot open.

Holy shit. He was in bed.

Holy shit. His alpha had found him.

Holier shit. His alpha was a fucking angel.

“You don’t need to laugh, Dean,” that voice said next, and only then did Dean realize he’d been about to burst into hysteria.

“Cass,” he said instead, looking at the dark wall of the hotel while he registered that his alpha was behind him, Castiel’s chest to his back, his arms wrapped around Dean’s torso. “Tell me what to do.”

Soft lips kissed his ear, then his neck. “There are so many ways I could do that.”

Dean shivered. “What?”

“I could tell you just to lie there and look beautiful,” Castiel said. “I could tell you to roll over on your stomach and let me inside you. I could tell you to roll over on your back and let me kiss you for weeks. I could tell you to open your mouth so I could feed you my cock.” Cass rolled his hips. “I could tell you to feel how much I want you and how much I want to do that.”

“You want me to suck you off?”

“You’re my omega, Dean.” The words seemed to drip with pleasure, like honey. “I want to have you open your sweet pink lips and moan with the idea of having me in your mouth. I want you hard with the thought of it. I want to fuck your perfect face and have you beg me for more. I want you to lie there, not moving, not even breathing enough to choke on me, while I shove this ridiculous human organ I’ve borne without purpose for millennia inside your body and feel you come apart with pleasure.”

Dean realized he was harder than he had ever been in his life. And he hadn’t touched himself beyond the friction of his boxers on his flesh.

“You have no idea how deeply, how overwhelmingly I want to fuck you, Dean. God made you for me, and me for you. It seems almost insulting that I’m not inside you right now.”

“We could fix that,” Dean managed to get out, for all that he knew he was speaking on cue.

Castiel snorted, or laughed, or chuckled. Dean couldn’t quite tell with the ringing in his ears and the renewed _thah-thud_ of his heart. A hot hand was at his hip, and then his boxers were gone. Dean had been leaking slick for a while, and it was so easy, so natural and obvious, the way Castiel slid inside him. But then it was a little further, a little thicker and fuller than he was ready for, and that felt absofuckinglutely fantastic.

“Oh, God,” Dean said, holding his left leg up to spread himself a bit wider.

“Mine,” Cass was saying. “All those years I watched you, wanted you. And now your life’s warmth is around me. The perfection of your body is open to me, wanting me.”

Castiel’s voice had grown a wondering tone at the end of that sentence, and Dean thought his _thah-thud_ heart might just break open.

“I’ve wanted you forever, Cass,” Dean whispered. “Before I knew you were possible, back when it was just the idea of you, I wanted you.”

Powerful, hot, and hard, Cass thrust inside him, setting everything Dean could feel to maximum. Several more thrusts followed, each perfect. Dean spared a thought for partners who had fucked him before and knew how nothing, really, the whole ordeal had been. He’d come, and it had felt all right. But so what?

This. Oh God. _This_ was what his body had been made for. The penetration felt nothing like an intrusion. This wasn’t about stimulation and getting off. It wasn’t even really about the physical part at all.

Some very small part of Dean’s mind objected to the Hallmark sentiment, but being fucked by Castiel, by his alpha, wasn’t about being fucked at all. He simply belonged in a way he had never belonged before. However silly it sounded, Cass’ cock just fit inside him. He didn’t feel complete; he felt fully awoken, fully himself. It was like a switch had been flipped deep inside him. Everything in his body and mind just felt right.

Dean opened his mouth to say all that, to praise his beautiful alpha, when Cass grunted and slightly changed his angle, his cock targeting Dean’s prostate with intent.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, yes.”

Pleasure was rising up now, overtaking even his sensations of being awake, of being whole, of being right. It was fire, and his blood pressure fluctuated like he was falling and flying at the same time. Everything in his body clenched or relaxed as needed.

“Castiel,” he breathed like a prayer as he came. Several minutes later, he was able to add, mumbling into a pillow, “Thank you for finding me.”

Warm arms pressed him close, and that whiskey voice grumbled into his ear yet again: “Thank you for letting yourself be found.”


	4. Chapter 4

Waking up, Dean pondered Cass’ last words. At first, they had just seemed sentimental, a cute way of saying something nonsensical.

Aware the angel currently wrapped around him didn’t sleep, Dean simply asked, “What did you mean?”

“An omega who truly feels incompatible can shut down, basically turning themselves into betas. My greatest fear was that when I was finally allowed to go to you, you would have imposed that on yourself. Then my scent would have meant nothing to you. You would have rejected me.”

“No. No way, Cass.” Dean turned inside his mate’s arms to kiss him, but the angel’s blue eyes were still sad as he pulled gently back.

“It would have been understandable. Most unmated omegas your age have done so. Hope can be exhausting.”

Dean shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t lying on. “I wouldn’t think much about it, sometimes, what with Sammy and hunting things. I figured I’d know you when I found you.”

Cass smiled, looking almost sly. “That you did.”

Dean laughs, and it feels damn good. He can’t remember the last time he’s laughed so hard. Sure, the fate of the world, blah blah blah, but everyone could wait a few seconds while he lay here in bed with his angel alpha and laugh at how the whole thing worked out: the barn, the exploding lights, a pair of incredibly blue eyes, and then having the first meaningful, mind-blowing sex of his life.

Cass waits until he is done laughing, then loans over and kisses him gently, with a bit of tongue.

“The sheriff is at Springer Auto with her husband and child,” he says. “He’s very ill.”

Dean nodded. Soon they were appearing in Bobby’s front room. The sheriff was kneeling by a dark-haired little boy lying on Bobby’s well-worn sofa so pale and frail looking Dean was worried he was already dead. He was sweating with circles under his eyes dark enough to have been drawn on with a Sharpie. The only actual proof of life was a faint, raspy inhale, then labored inhale.

Mills, her face wet with tears and creased with fear, startled when Cass leaned down without a word and put two fingers to the boy’s forehead. Dean saw a bright glow diffuse through him that seemed oddly familiar. Instantly the boy looked better, just a kid sleeping.

“Owen?” the sheriff whispered.

“He should sleep a while longer,” Castiel told her.

“Sean,” she said next, turning to the only occupant in the room Dean didn’t recognize. The guy, doubtlessly her husband, managed to go to her for comfort while gaping openly at the angel.

Castiel, however, suddenly looked up, eyes narrowed. With a nod at Dean, he disappeared with a faint sound of wings.

Now the focus of a half-dozen pairs of eyes, Dean looked at his brother, Bobby, Jo, and Ellen and shrugged.

A moment passed, and then Castiel was back, his hand gripping the arm of an attractive, familiar-looking woman in jeans, a black lace top, and black cowboy boots.

Sam flinched in shock. The woman look at his brother, than around the room, with growing anger.

“She has been attempting to contact Sam,” Castiel said.

“You’re the gal from Sam’s hotel room,” Dean said.

“She’s a demon,” Castiel said. “You knew her in another body as Ruby.”

“Sam, tell him I’m on your side,” Ruby said.

“The hell!” Dean said.

“Mom?” the little boy on the sofa said.

“Owen!’ Sheriff Mills said, reaching down to hold her son close.

Cass looked up sharply again. A high-pitched whine began, and the walls started shaking.

“Everyone to me!” the angel yelled, his alpha nature on blatant display. Even Ruby took a step closer to him. They all rushed forward, with Owen in Sean’s arms and Bobby grabbing a shotgun. Once the last of them, Jo, was within two feet of Castiel, Dean felt a familiar sense of flying.

A moment later, they were all standing inside an abandoned cathedral, the size and old-style grandeur of which told Dean right away they were no longer in America.

“Hold her,” Cass said, shoving Ruby into Dean’s arms. “Do not let her go.”

“OK,” Dean said, just barely managing not to bow at the alpha waves his soulmate was currently blasting out.

Castiel then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Ruby’s knife. With a few long strides, he was at the nearest stone wall, cutting his arm and gathering up the blood to smear a circle with a series of squiggles and runes around it. When it was complete, the angel stepped back with cautious relief, looking around and obviously listening hard.

He nodded. “We should be safe here for a time.”

“What was that?” Bobby demanded.

“The Archangel Raphael,” Castiel said. “He’s not pleased with my interference.”

“Archangel?” Bobby scowled at Dean, holding a currently obedient Ruby, though he could feel her trembling with rage. “Just what have you boys gotten into here?”

Castiel frowned. “I told you, the Apocalypse.”

“What?” Jody asked.

“As in the end of the world?” Sean asked.

Cass nodded. “Yes.”

“It’s Lilith,” Ruby said. “She’s been breaking seals in an attempt—”

“You need to be quiet, or I will kill you,” Castiel told her.

“Look, Dean—” Sam started.

“Not now.” Dean knew if he spent any time thinking about how the chick in Sam’s motel room was Ruby, he just might kill someone. Maybe Sam.

“Where are we?” Ellen asked, looking around.

“Belchite, Spain,” Castiel said.

“And me without my passport,” she said.

“I can retrieve that for you if it becomes important,” Castiel told her. “But I doubt that will be the case.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jo said, “but just what the hell is going on here?”

“Actually, Hell’s a good place to start,” Dean said, looking around himself.

As a centuries-old ruin, the place was impressive, if very dry and a little hot. There wasn’t a ceiling over the main area, but Cass had beamed them into an alcove, so their heads are covered. In fact, Dean feels instinctually they need to stay in the alcove for Cass’ blood sigil to work. No wonder he didn’t want Ruby just wandering around.

Seriously, what the hell, Ruby? What has Sam been up to?

“Not exactly a conference room,” Bobby muttered.

Dean looked to Cass, and then there was an ornate wooden desk like they might have used in an eighteenth-century palace in the middle of the room with modern, ergo dynamic chairs around it, one for each of them. Dean figured the one on the end with the open handcuffs is for Ruby and had her sit in it before he snapped her in place. He noted the rune work in the medal. She obviously did too.

There were plastic water bottles on the table and notepads with pens. Dean grabbed a bottle to take a a drink, then sat away from Ruby next to Castiel.

“Let me explain what I know,” the angel began.


End file.
